Fathers and Daughters
by Tessenchan
Summary: Sometimes it's the little things that tear us down; Donna confides in the Doctor on the anniversary of her father's death.  Set after 4.06 The Doctor's Daughter.


**FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS** by Tessenchan (mihane_echo)

A/N: First posted on livejournal in February 2011. 

The Doctor was staring at his tea again. Lost in thought.

Every time he realised he was, he would shake himself out of it, lift the mug to sip it and then recoil when he tasted it. Cold and bitter. Had he even put anything in it? He couldn't remember. It was cold anyway. Probably better to just make another cup.

He set the mug back onto the tabletop and didn't move. He just didn't have the strength.

In the quiet moments, it always turned into this. Thinking too much, which led to his heart aching, then remembering and swallowing it because the grief was like an ocean and if he let the waves inundate him, he would drown in it.

There was just so much, and she had dragged it all up and he couldn't tell anymore if he was grieving her or just that she had reminded him of what he had lost. He saw her face first and then the other's, and then his boy's, and his grandchildren, and it was just too much.

He shook himself again, sipped the tea. Grimaced. He really needed to make another cup.

"Morning."

Donna's greeting was quiet as she entered the kitchen. He knew immediately something was wrong in the way she came to him and hugged him.

His ginger companion had a childlike quality when she first woke up, a quiet softness that slowly retreated into her the more awake she became. Her first morning on the TARDIS had begun with hugging the Time Lord and then slowly coming back to consciousness over three cups of tea and a plate of toast with peach marmalade.

The longer she stayed, the more endearing he found that first moment when she slipped her arms around his neck and gave him a gentle squeeze, and the more he found he expected and needed it.

But this morning she came in later than she normally did for breakfast, and when she hugged him, she held on a bit too tight, for a heartbeat too long. Just enough to concern him.

And then he heard a sniffle and a heavy breath, a shaking sort of sigh, like she was gathering her bearings, and he reached up to hold her back.

"What's wrong?" he asked solicitously.

Donna shook her head, murmuring against his ear. "Nothing." She drew away from him and went to the counter, pulled down a mug and poured her tea. The Doctor watched her back quietly, knowing it wasn't nothing. He was sure it was something. He had the keenest feeling that her heart was breaking right here in front of him, and he didn't know why.

She gave another sniff and then reached up to wipe at her face. The Doctor cleared his throat. "Since we've had a go at pretending you're all right and you haven't managed to convince me, why don't you tell me what's upset you?"

Donna slid into her usual seat, the one adjacent to his. She shook her head as she stirred her tea, the spoon steadily clinking against the side of the cup. Then she looked up at him, and it was like being punched in the chest. She had been crying; her eyes were red.

She shook her head again. "I'm fine." Her voice was steady, nasally.

"Donna," he urged, a bit sharply.

"No, I mean it. It's something silly." She looked up at him, gave him the ghost of a smile. "I'm getting worked up over it for nothing. I'll be all right."

"If it has you upset like this, it isn't silly." The Doctor eyed her worriedly, still not content to stand uninformed. "You don't want to talk about it?"

Donna stared at her tea, holding the mug tightly between both hands as though she might drop it suddenly. She took a deep, wavering breath and then said, "It's my dad."

The Doctor nodded, waited patiently.

"He's been gone a year. Today."

The Doctor slipped his fingers around hers, giving them a squeeze. "Oh, Donna. I'm so sorry."

She nodded, pressing her lips together.

He tipped his head. "That's not silly, Donna, that's... Well, that's big. And normal," he stressed.

"That's not what I'm upset about. Not really."

_Oh_, he mouthed, momentarily confused. "Then what...?"

For a moment he thought she would brush him off again; she shook her head and looked distantly past him, lost in her own thoughts. Chewing on her bottom lip she finally reached some agreement with herself.

She took a deep breath.

"My dad... He and my gramps were really alike. Probably why they got on so well, actually. Their favourite thing to do was sit on the hill with their telescope and stargaze. They used to talk about aliens and star systems and space travel... all the stuff you and I get to do. And when I was a little girl, I was their assistant. I'd carry up these big star charts and a thermos of tea and we would look for constellations together, and planets and all that."

She was smiling in fond recollection and the Doctor smiled with her; he could just see her, the tiny ginger girl kneeling in the grass over a chart, the two most important men in her young life telling her stories about worlds beyond the heavens, her blue-grey eyes wide with wonder as her imagination filled in the blanks.

"I didn't think you were much into that sort of thing," he said honestly. "When we first met, you were a bit..."

Donna's gaze dropped to the tabletop; she chuckled derisively. "Shallow?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Closed-minded."

"Yeah well, there's a reason." The smile was gone now, replaced by a sardonic grin. "See, because just before my thirteenth birthday, I convinced myself that it was all nonsense. I quit. I stopped going up with Dad and I started bothering about boys and clothes and makeup." She sniffed. "Dad and Gramps never said anything, they were always better to me than I was to them."

"Donna..."

"Oh, but _that_ isn't it, either!" She stood up suddenly and stomped to the counter, and then turned back. "Because then you showed up. You waltzed into my life and turned everything upside down."

The Doctor bit back the comment that technically _she_ had done the waltzing into _his_ life, as she had been the one to appear out of thin air, in fancy dress, into his TARDIS while he was in flight.

"Well... then, I'm sorry?" he said hesitantly. "Do you want me to apologise for that?"

Donna's shoulders sagged and she crossed her arms loosely over her belly, sounding tired. "No. I just mean... I had that day, that one day with you, Christmas even," she snorted, rolling her eyes, "the most magical day of the year, and it was like being a little girl again. Everything was strange and new again and I couldn't tell anyone."

Her lips tightened into a thin line as she tried to hold her composure. "I couldn't... _didn't_ tell either of the two people who would've loved it the most... who mattered the most."

His eyes flickered; he tried to stifle the feeling of responsibility that sank into his chest. Donna shook her head.

"I just kept it to myself, and I..." She laughed bitterly. "I'm not strong. I told you about Egypt. Nothing changed. I didn't change. It was the same life, same temp jobs, same bills, same... neglect."

His eyebrows furrowed, not quite understanding. Donna cursed under her breath. "Don't you get it? All those years, he asked me every night to come up the hill with him and I never did, because it was silly childish nonsense and then even when I knew that it wasn't, when I knew it was all real, I never did because I always had _better things to do_, better, more important things than spending time with my sweet old dad-"

It clicked in the Doctor's head suddenly and he stood up, going to her. "Wait a minute-"

Donna sobbed, looking wild-eyed. "-And then he _died_! He's gone and he didn't know how much I loved spending time with him and how I loved his stories and how much I regretted not spending every night of the past twenty years on that hill with him!"

The Doctor stood stricken, feeling his chest tighten more and more; he hated seeing her hurt like this. He reached out, rested his hand on her shoulder, and that was all the invitation she needed. She crumpled against his chest, clinging to him as a child would a stuffed animal, her fingers knotting into his shirt. Her body shook with silent weeping, and he wrapped his arms tight around her, stroked her hair.

"Donna," his voice was hard, but he spoke her name tenderly, affecting as much love for her as he could into the two syllables. "Do you really think your father didn't know that you loved him?"

"I know that he knew," she said brokenly. "But I never told him anything. I never... I always thought I would have more time with him, I never took the time I had. I never _made_ the time for him." She whimpered softly, fresh tears seeping into his shirt. "And now he's gone, and I miss him so much."

He leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "I know."

He waited until she had cried herself out, until she'd stopped trembling and her sobs eased into slow exhalations. As he rubbed soft circles into her back, his brain was thundering away at a hundred miles an hour.

He'd latched onto an idea and no matter how much his logic told him no, that he couldn't do this for her, he couldn't bear knowing that Donna was carrying this with her.

He didn't want her to have to ask, either.

The Doctor took a deep breath, leaned back slightly. He reached up with one hand to gently rub away the tears on her cheek. "Give me a date."

Donna sniffed. Her eyes shimmered up at him uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"One day," he said, "before your dad died. It'd be better if you knew that he was alone, it would be easier than chancing you running into yourself."

As she realised his meaning, Donna's eyes grew wide. Her mouth opened, worked silently for a second, and then she shut it. She bit her lip, swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"The fourth of April. It was a Friday." She cleared her throat, shook her head. "Dad was still up and walking around then, and he went up the hill on his own." Her face crinkled; it looked for a moment that she might start crying again. "It was the last time he went up with the telescope."

The Doctor didn't feel the need to ask where she had been, for fear she really would start up again, and he couldn't stand to see her cry. He never knew what to do when Donna started crying; it just made him want to cry as well.

Instead, he smoothed his hand over her hair again. "You go get ready while I set the controls, won't take a tick."

She nodded, lingered for a moment, her fingers playing over his absently. Then she squeezed his hand and turned, shuffling out of the kitchen and down the corridor.

The Doctor watched her go, feeling completely turned upside-down and his hearts beating a furious tempo against his ribs. He was growing accustomed to feeling that way because of Donna, the discombobulated headiness of a crush he really ought not to be nurturing. But this was different to how she usually made him feel; every instinct he had was railing against this trip.

And he remembered all too well the last time he'd ignored his gut.

Taking Rose to see her father had been a very big, very terrible mistake. With a sigh, the Time Lord ran his hand through his hair and hoped he wasn't making the same mistake again.

.n.

Her room was quiet, and that was strange. Because her head, her room, the world, everything was spinning.

Donna pressed her palms to the countertop of her vanity and took a deep breath to steady herself. Her heart was pounding, a deafening thunder in her ears; she could feel her pulse in the pads of her fingers, clinging to the sturdy oak table. For one insane moment, she thought she could feel the TARDIS spinning through the time tunnel, time rushing over her and propelling her backward to a time when Geoff Noble, her father, was alive.

The very idea of being at his side again was surreal, and that thought alone made Donna want to laugh. As though going back to 79 AD had ever been more of a possibility. As though rescuing the squid aliens from the planet Hoth was an everyday occurrence. Oh yeah, and fiery skies and seven-day wars, those were run of the mill.

But this was so much more personal, so much more intangible. Donna had long ago accepted that she would never see her dad again.

_And yet_, she thought.

"All right?"

The Doctor's soft-spoken query did not startle her so much as break her out of her whirlwind pondering. Donna looked up into the vanity mirror; in the reflection, she could see her friend standing in her doorway, his face open and concerned. Worried about her, she guessed; she relaxed, felt the trepidation seep away and warm affection for the Time Lord replaced it. He could be so incredibly sweet.

With a sigh, she spun on the chair, turning to look at him properly. She nodded. "Bit scared, I think."

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, reaching up to tug at his earlobe. "Would you rather... we didn't?"

"No," she said quickly, pressing her lips together. "No, that's not what I meant. I want to see him, I just..." Her face crinkled in intense thought. "What do you say? Is there a book I can skim through? Visiting Deceased Loved Ones for the Hard of Thinking, or something?"

Amusement twinkled in his dark eyes. "No, not really."

"Obviously I can't tell him anything. He'd think I was having him on or humouring his fascination with outer space; he'd never believe me. Sometimes I can't believe it, it's so mental." Breathlessly she shook her head. "I just don't know."

There was a pause between them, the Doctor still standing at the door, his lanky frame leaning easily against the jamb and his hand rubbing absently at the back of his neck; Donna's eyes settled on her painted blue nails, her fingers wringing over each other lightly and her mind weighing the myriad scenarios she had concocted.

Finally she looked up. "What would you say?"

The Doctor's head pulled up, his eyes large and inquisitive. "To who?"

"To anyone. Anyone you loved," she nodded meaningfully, "you know, like that. A family member. If you had a chance to see them again, what would you say?"

He took a deep breath then, blowing it through his lips. "Ohhhh. I don't know."

His reply didn't satisfy her in the least, and Donna couldn't help the disappointed look that fell across her features. But she didn't push; in retrospect it was a personal question and probably dreadfully intrusive. After all, it was only recently she'd learned he had once been a father, and it had been clear that it was as painful for him as it was shocking for her.

She couldn't begin to imagine what other secrets this man held inside, regrets and shameful mistakes he hadn't come to terms with yet, and memories of people whose loss he was still grieving.

All the same, his face clouded with guilt and he shoved his hands in his pockets, his lips parting, preparing to speak. Donna stood up abruptly, annoyed with herself for making her friend feel like he was obliged to confide in her. She cleared her throat.

"We're there then, I guess?"

The Doctor shut his mouth, chewing on his tongue; then he bowed his head and nodded. "Yeah. Half past seven in the evening, Friday, the fourth of April, two-thousand eight." The corner of his mouth drew back into a wan smile. "And you might want to throw on a scarf."

Donna gave him a grateful nod. "I just have to pop to the kitchen, only be a minute."

.n.

Before, the world and everything in it had been twirling in a dizzy dance, a never-ending spinning top of fear and anxiety and hope.

Now, all was still. The world seemed flat and stale, colourless and distant, as though she were looking on it through dark sunglasses that blanked the light and the solidity of the things around her; objects seemed to blend into one shapeless mass of unimportant stuff. She heard no sound of traffic or rustling grass or tinkling wind chimes. She felt nothing but her heart in her throat, pumping anticipation like warm water through her veins, dissolving the chill inside.

Donna stared at her house as though it was haunted. She knew that inside, her mother was clipping coupons at the kitchen table; her grandfather was settled up on the sofa with a cold, banned from the evening excursion to the hill because of it; and she was out with Veena and Nerys. Nothing important, just a girls' night out.

She couldn't see her father, not from where the Doctor had parked on the street corner. A deluge of conflicted ideas washed through her. For so long after his death, she had gone up the hill, still expecting him to be there. It had been months before she stopped expecting it, and longer still before realising it was because she was used to him being gone.

She trusted the Doctor; if he said it was April 2008, she knew her father was there, on that hill, a plaid cap on his bald head and a thick coat wrapped around him, telescope centred on some astronomical fancy.

And yet some part of her still didn't think he would be there. She was almost waiting for the bottom to fall out, to stride up that hill and see the empty lot, with nothing but a ghost, the imprint of a warm-hearted old man who had been her hero and best friend for her entire life.

The Doctor came to her side; she felt his gaze on her, compassionate but firm. He said her name in that soft voice again, and she swallowed, pulling herself together.

"I'm okay," she told him. She turned to him, locked blue eyes with his dark pair. "I'll be back."

"I'll be here," he promised.

And then she turned and strode across the street.

She went around the house and through the gate, mindful of the gaps between drawn curtains over the windows. All she needed was her ever-vigilant mother catching her and she'd be in serious trouble, probably more with the Doctor than with Sylvia. He hadn't said anything, but Donna realised how dangerous this was.

Everyone knew she was out tonight; she had a ready excuse for her father and was prepared to swear by it, especially as he wouldn't see her until the following morning. But her mother knew full well what time she came home (two in the morning; she had been livid about it at breakfast) so Donna couldn't risk it.

She'd have to hear about the paradox she'd created and the related ramifications of it until the end of time, she just knew it.

The incline of the hill gradually levelled out and Donna pulled herself out of her thoughts once more, focusing on the place she had spent so much of her childhood.

And he was there.

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she simply stood there, taking it in. He was so thin, frail, as she remembered. But this was before he had taken the turn for worse, before becoming bedridden and grey. His blue eyes shone with quiet optimism, a pleasant smile on his face.

She cleared her throat.

"Hey Dad."

Geoff looked up, surprised, and then a broad grin lit his face. "Good lord, I hadn't expected to see you up here tonight!"

Donna shrugged, struggled to keep her chin from shaking. "It's a nice clear night and Gramps is laid up in bed... I figured you wouldn't mind the company." She held up the thermos she'd brought. "Fresh tea and everything."

"You bet I wouldn't mind." He patted his knee. "Well, c'mon then. Sit down, stay a while."

Donna settled onto the grass next to him, eyes growing warm as she grinned up at him. She didn't want to look away for even a moment. "What have you got?"

"M81," he replied, adjusting the lens. He pushed his spectacles up as he sat back. "Off Messier's list."

"What's that then?"

He waved his hand at her, beckoning her closer. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, his face next to hers so he could direct her view more clearly, and pointed up into the night sky. "Do you see that big star? A little ways above the Great Bear."

"Yeah."

"To the naked eye, it just looks like a star, doesn't it? Nothing extraordinary, just another star." He held up a demonstrative finger, building up the magic of his telescope. "But you give it a little oomph, and..." He leaned back again, indicating Donna should look for herself.

She flipped back her hair and leaned in, looking into the eyepiece. The most brilliant galaxy glittered back at her: a spiral, with perfect arms stretching out from the shining white core. The arms themselves were a glowing dusty blue, and the stars it harboured sparkled like so many snowy crystals.

"It's a galaxy," she breathed.

"Right-o." His hand was warm on her shoulder. "That little dot of light is actually billions and billions of stars all clustered together. It's so far away, twelve million light years, that we can't even see that it's many! We can only see one star. Makes you think, doesn't it?"

She blinked up at him. "About what?"

"About what else is out there," he said energetically. His smile softened. "That sort of thing gives me hope, Donna. That we're not the only people in this universe. There's other places out there, other skies. And I think that's brilliant."

Donna looked up at the sky, inky black with its pinpricks of white light. Had she travelled to any of them yet? Was the Oodsphere in her night sky? Or Messaline? She nodded. "I think so too."

Her father was quiet for a long moment and then he took the thermos, poured himself a cuppa. "Now then, what's the matter?"

Donna's gaze whirled back to him. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You're home early," he observed. "Is it Nerys again?"

She blinked; had Nerys been bothering her in April? A moment later, she remembered the months and months of waxing poetic misery, then shook her head. "No," she replied. "I mean, her constant baby talk made me a bit sore, but... It's not her. Not really."

She poured herself a cup and held it, the steam mixing with her own frozen breath and coiling in the cool night air. Just this morning she had held her cup for what seemed like hours. Cried into the Doctor's shoulder about silly little worries, when he'd just lost a daughter of his own.

Oh, Jenny. She'd fretted about the story about the breath of life, and the sigh.

A sad smile crossed Donna's features. _I guess all little girls worry about disappointing their fathers_.

She looked up at her father. "I'm sorry. For... everything, you know."

Geoff's eyebrows furrowed behind the frames of his spectacles. "What sort of nonsense are you on about, now?"

"It's just..." Tears stung at her eyes but Donna pushed them back, pressed her lips together. "I waste so much time. Like tonight, how long has it been since I sat up here with you? And not just you, but Gran, and my whole life- I haven't done anything worthwhile, not ever. I must be such a disappointment."

"Oi, now you look here, and listen to me," he said firmly. Once more, his hand was on her shoulder, and he turned her slightly to face him. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, staring at his scarf instead. He spoke regardless. "You have never been a disappointment to me, not to anyone worth listening to, Donna Noble. Some of the finest people I know didn't know at forty what they would do with their lives. Some of the most fun still don't really know."

His fingers pressed under her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. He looked stern, as though he were reprimanding her for having a cookie before dinner; she ought to know better.

"What have I always told you, from when you were tiny? You are meant to do something brilliant and grand. Bigger than you, bigger than your mum and me. I never said that just because I wanted you to grow up into the strong, beautiful woman you are now; I said it because I believe it. And just because you haven't found it yet doesn't mean you won't, sweetheart."

"You don't think I'm not looking hard enough?" she asked, in a small voice.

"I think that when it happens, you'll know it. And it'll be so much bigger than temping in Chiswick, you'll wonder how you ever lived without it." He nodded at her encouragingly, and she nodded in agreement, warm tears bubbling up. He grinned that lopsided half-smile and thumbed away the wet streaks on her cheeks.

Then he pulled her into a hug; Donna squashed him tight, letting out a tiny gasp. Had it really only been a year since she last hugged him? It felt like a lifetime, and she was a small little girl again, safe in the arms of her father.

She never wanted to leave.

"I love you, Dad," she whispered in his ear, and he smoothed his hand down her auburn hair.

"I love you too, sweetheart." His voice was slightly bemused.

He held her until she pulled away, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. He still had that soft smile of bemusement on his face, and he cupped her cheek. "My girl," he said.

The words stirred some feeling between contentment and longing, and the taste of it was bittersweet. Immediately Donna decided to sort through her feelings later; right now, she just wanted to enjoy his company.

She closed her eyes and settled against him. "Didn't you have a story once where this bloke used the stars of the Milky Way as a sled?"

"Mhm," Geoff replied. "Native American legend. The Great One, whose bow was made out of the curve of the rainbow and whose sled had runners of stardust." He looked up from his little book with a twinkle in his eye. "I believe there was also a girl who fell in love with him in that story, no wonder you remember it."

Donna gave him a sidelong look of reproach and then smirked. "I remember it because of the mental image of a man riding through the stars. I always wondered what that would be like."

One moment came to her in crystal clarity, of dust and rocks and gas swirling together to form the Earth, the humbling awe and privilege she'd felt at witnessing it. The first inkling of her place in the universe, tiny little Donna in the vast endless space.

And the man who rode the stars at her side, showing it to her not to upset her or condescend to her, but to cheer her up.

Albeit, he used a box and not a sled.

"Aye, me too," her father nodded. He leaned forward to the viewfinder again and adjusted it. "But you've a penchant for romance as well."

Donna grinned. Box, as opposed to sled. Oh yes, very romantic.

After the moon had climbed another hour into the sky, Geoff slapped his little book onto the grass and started taking down the telescope. Donna felt her heart begin to ache. Her time was up. More than anything, she wanted to stay here; better yet, take him with her. Into the TARDIS with the Doctor and show him everything he'd ever dreamed of.

She wished she could've asked him before he died. If she _knew_ that she had taken him, then it wasn't a paradox, it was time flowing exactly as it was meant to.

And that made it all right, didn't it?

Heart in her throat, Donna looked up at her father, placed her hand on his arm. He looked down at her, blue eyes open and honest.

And she thought of the Doctor.

He had been so anxious, a tremulous veil of fear in his eyes when he suggested he bring her to her father, quiet voice when he wondered if she was up to it. He was a Time Lord, the guardian of everything temporal. She had seen him battle with himself over whether or not he could step in and change history, and the agony it caused him when he knew that he couldn't, that he was the cause of tragedy.

Thinking on it, his behaviour today had made it all too clear that this event, seeing her father one last time and settling her own unnecessary insecurities, probably wasn't meant to happen. And she wasn't stupid enough to believe that her wanting it could change that.

Donna released a deep, shaking breath and let it go.

"You have to go in, I suppose?" she asked gently.

Geoff clicked his tongue. "Yea, before your mum stomps up here looking to drag me in. She likes me in the house by nine these days."

"Yeah," breathed Donna. The temptation was blindingly strong. "Uhm, actually, before you go in, there's someone I want you to meet."

"Oh, oh? Got a man now, have you?"

Donna waved her hand dismissively, tried to stifle her smile. "No, not like that. We're not together."

"You sure about that?" He paused to appraise her expression, then grinned. "Because that blush says otherwise."

She laughed lightly, reaching up to rub at her cheeks. They _were_ warm. "I'm not blushing, it's cold out here! Of course I'm a bit pink."

"All right, all right."

"It's just-" She hesitated, trying to choose the right words. He had to understand. Tonight.

Geoff turned back to look at her when he finished securing the telescope, patiently waiting for her to continue. Donna took a deep breath. "It's a bit tricky. I mean, not the Doctor, he's wonderful. He's the most spectacular man I've ever met, and the things we've done together... You wouldn't believe how much he's shown me. But it's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it," her father said in his usual simple fashion. "You overthink things sometimes, Donna. What's important is what you feel."

She nodded, then swallowed. "Dad, this man, the Doctor, is my best friend. He's been with me through everything. And I know that he'll be there for me after... in the future."

"Ah," said Geoff, understanding. A flash of sadness crossed his face and he reached out; Donna took his hand instantly, holding it between both of hers. He patted her hands and nodded.

"I'm glad," he said softly, "that you've got someone who'll take care of you when I'm gone."

Her eyes glittered in the moonlight. "I don't like to think about it, but-"

"We've all got to go sometime. My turn's come up a bit quicker than I'd like, is all." His lopsided smile returned. "And it does ease my heart knowing you won't be alone."

"I'm not," she said happily. "I'm never alone now that he's with me."

He nodded again, this time in satisfaction, then sighed. "Let's go and meet him then, hey? Your spectacular man."

.n.

His stomach was churning.

Didn't happen often, it had to be said; he rarely let himself or his companions knowingly walk the lines of paradoxes, much less create them. But it wasn't so much the paradox as it was he, and the timeline as it was meant to occur, was at the mercy of a person.

And a person, even a smart and responsible person like Donna, was capable of doing some incredibly stupid things when tempted.

The Doctor paced another circle around the console, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair standing on end from endless run-throughs of his fingers.

The door creaked open, and an autumn head poked in. "Oi, Spaceman."

His head shot up. "Donna!"

She grinned at him and gestured with her finger. "C'mere."

His eyes narrowed; he inclined his head, unsure, but Donna shook her head, her smile turning soft. "It's okay, just trust me."

With a sigh, the Doctor padded down the ramp, grabbing his greatcoat as he passed through the doors. He shrugged into it and joined Donna on the pavement, simultaneously wanting to ask what she was up to and wanting to trust her judgment. She just continued with her gentle smile and pulled the doors shut behind him. Back across the road they walked, to the far corner of the house where Geoff Noble stood waiting, his telescope packed away in its case.

The Doctor's whole body tensed briefly when he saw the old man standing there, and he shot a look of warning to Donna. Cool as a winter day, she feathered her hand onto his arm, her gaze on her father.

"Dad, this is the Doctor. Doctor," she turned to him, "this is my father Geoff."

The man smiled warmly, offered his hand. His eyes were the same colour as Donna's, weathered blue with flecks of grey. Up until he saw those eyes, the Doctor hadn't been able to shake his feeling of anxiety. But the old man had such a reassuring quality that he felt automatically at ease. He knew this must be why Donna had been able to confide in her father growing up, why he had become her pillar of support.

He knew how important Donna's father had been to her; that was why he had done this for her. And there was a light swell of privilege in his chest that Donna thought him special enough to meet this man.

He took Geoff's hand and squeezed it gently.

"Nice to meet you at last, Geoff. Donna's told me a lot about you."

"It's a pleasure, son," her father said, giving Donna a cursory glance. "Although, I wish I could say I've heard of you before tonight. My girl seems to have done her best to keep you a secret."

The Doctor hesitated, worried he'd put Donna in a tough spot, but she didn't blink an eyelash.

"Dad, don't you recognise him?"

"Eh?" Geoff blinked, peering at him over the top of his spectacles and then through the lenses again. Understanding flashed over his face. "Cor blimey, you're that bloke from Christmas!"

The Doctor blanched and sent a similar cursory glance to Donna. What was she getting him into?

Donna nodded, pressed a finger to her lips. "That's why you can't mention him to Mum." She gave him a smile that bordered on sly. "I don't think she'd be pleased with me seeing him."

"Too right," Geoff said, mimicking Donna's finger to the lips. "She won't hear a word of him from me." He grinned and then turned back to the Doctor. "I know Donna says you aren't together, but to be honest I've never heard her speak with so much fondness about a man."

The Doctor beamed, relaxing a bit more and stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. He watched as Donna turned two shades of pink higher than normal. "Fondness, hey?" he teased. "Really?"

"Well, I'm not repeating it," stated Donna. "Your ego's big enough."

"Oh, so you said the usual, then? Brilliant, handsome, charming-"

"Skinny streak of nothing is what I said."

Geoff's eyes twinkled mischievously. "You sure you're not together?"

They both turned to him, their voices going high as they protested him in unison; the Doctor shook his head, looking uncomfortable, and Donna very nearly stamped one foot in indignation, her blue eyes clear and frustrated. "Dad! You of all people-"

"It's really not... not like that-"

"-say not together, I mean we're not!"

Geoff held up his hands in surrender. "Aye, aye. I hear you. Though if I may say so, sweetheart," he peered at Donna over his specs. "You might want to remember what I said about thinking too much."

Donna hesitated, recalling the moment before. _What's important is what you feel._ She pressed her lips together, considering her feelings: the gentle affection she felt for the Doctor; the safety in his presence; the trust and easy camaraderie. She made an ambiguous gesture with her head, something like a nod and a shake.

"He really is, though. Just my best friend, Dad."

Geoff saw something wistful flicker through the Doctor's face; it was only just enough for both men to notice, and the Doctor composed himself quickly. Geoff smirked. "All right," he said, sounding placated for the moment. He bunched his shoulders against the cold. "Best get in then, hey? Coming in, Donna?"

She shook her head. "No, I'll stay with the Doctor for a bit longer. Probably be home late."

Her father nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still twinkling in that knowing way. "Awright then, good night. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Donna made a nearly inaudible whimper, and the Doctor glanced sidelong at her. It was awful, watching her hear those words, knowing that she was wishing they were true, that she would be seeing her dad tomorrow, and the day next and next. But she held it together: only her voice cracked when she spoke.

"Yeah. Good night, Dad."

He opened his arms and she went into them, a little girl embracing her father one final time. She gave him a firm kiss on the forehead as she pulled away, and he held her at arm's length for an extra moment, beaming at her until she returned his grin. Then he turned to the Doctor, a gentle firmness in his blue eyes.

"You promise me something, Doctor? You'll look after my girl."

Automatically the Doctor straightened his shoulders, and smiled. "Always."

Geoff watched him; satisfied, he gave a little nod of his head and then took up the telescope case again and went into the house.

Donna watched him go, her face full of longing, until the Doctor brushed her knuckles with his own. Without a sound, she let him take her hand and lead her back to the corner where the TARDIS was parked. Through the doors and up the ramp to the jumpseat, she followed him, the emptiness in her chest tightening until she could hardly breathe.

It wasn't until the time rotor began to rise and fall, and the shudder of the engines rumbled through the grated floor of the timeship, that Donna realised that precious time, the last days of Geoff Noble, was somewhere in the past once more, where she could not reach him.

And then she let the tears fall.

Her face buried in her hands, she didn't see the Doctor come to her side; she only felt his arms encircle her shoulders, his mouth press a kiss to the top of her hair. He said nothing, no useless platitudes or promises; he simply held her.

For a long time all she heard was her own soft sobs, the whooshing and yawning of the time rotor and the double-thump of the Doctor's hearts. She sniffed, leaning against him. Finally he spoke.

"All right now?"

Donna took a deep breath, exhaled at length. Tentatively she pulled away and reached up to wipe at her face. "Yeah." She looked up at him, knowing she probably looked a mess, mascara all over the place and her eyes red and puffy.

And yet there was still that gentleness in his face, a wistful concern. His hand rose up to touch her cheek, but he hesitated, and then let it fall to his side. He pressed his lips together in an awkward sort of way and stepped back, leaning his bottom against the edge of the console and shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

"I'm glad," he said lamely.

Donna smiled at him, eyes sparkling. "Thank you. For taking me to see my dad."

He nodded, his usual smile looking a bit shy. "You're welcome."

The two of them lapsed into a charged silence; Donna could tell the Doctor wanted to say something but wasn't sure what was stopping him. His eyebrows were knit in a dark expression, full of distance and pain. She didn't want to push him, though. Instead, she slid off the jumpseat to her feet, and it was the provocation he needed.

"You... asked me," he started suddenly, startling her. "What I would say if I had the chance to see my family again." He paused, expecting her to prompt him; when she didn't, he took a deep breath. "I suppose... I would apologise."

Donna blinked up at him. "Apologise for what?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Everything."

She saw that darkness in his eyes again. Distance. He was somewhere else. In the Time War. Or perhaps in a prison cell with a new daughter. It was too much for him, she could tell. She knew he wouldn't be able to say anything more, not now.

Donna found she didn't need him to. She reached out and took his hand, squeezed it. He came back to the present, blinking at her, and Donna smiled playfully at him.

"Let's go somewhere fun."

His eyebrows disappeared into his brown fringe. "Planet Zog?"

All the play drained out of her face, and Donna stared. "There's actually a planet called _Zog_?"

He grinned at her. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

**end**


End file.
